Who cares what I think anyway?

English, What Is?

2006-11-01T22:18:00.000-06:00

I just spent the past half hour or so perusing some posts on a message board on the internet. My reading was for my entertainment, and I'm sure most of the participants were posting for their own enjoyment. That's great. Really.

I have to ask myself, however, if I'm part of a dying breed -- those who can spell, punctuate, and express themselves clearly.

I wouldn't apply for a position at the Chicago Manual of Style, but people!

The kind of crap that passes for writing these days, even of the most casual sort, could possibly get the perpetrators hanged in Grammarland, Styleland, or Punctuationland. I won't even tell you about the horrors which could await these people in Syntaxland.

Sure, my writing has all sorts of flaws. I overuse ellipses ... and maybe my paragraphs are sometimes too short.

But have you seen what passes for casual, bare-boned, off-the-cuff prose these days? It's unintelligible.

One wonders if these people will be running the country someday, or if they already are.

Friendship, what is?

2005-12-29T07:48:00.000-06:00

I guess I could pull out a dictionary, as I am so wont to do, and just define it based on a bunch of editors' decisions. That's perfectly valid, but not what I'm getting at.

These last few days I was out of town (invited to share in holiday cheer by close friends), and I invited my friend J-Prime to stay at my place because her shower is acting up and so is her heat, so I thought, "great, she can look after the cat, take a shower, and enjoy some regularly dispensed heat."

I think many of you know I am a slob and that I lack taste, or at least I am lazy enough to do nothing about my taste. It's probably the former -- I cannot decorate a closet much less and entire apartment.

So.

This wasn't planned, but my friend, J-Prime, not only cleaned my entire apartment (except the office which she knew she shouldn't), but reorganized everything, and ....

not only that, went shopping at Linens 'n' Things (Linens and Things?), Ikea, Home Depot, and God knows where else, and provided my apartment with some sense of style and comfort.

She did it because she wanted to do it for me (and okay, yeah, maybe she was bored). I felt like crying when I got home (but I can only do that when I watch Wit and I'm not sure where I put that DVD).

I've done similar things for people in the past without much thought other than, "he/she is going to be really pleased by this," and it's very nice to be on the receiving end of that. I have been before, many times really, but this ... well, this is right up there with Chika and Zilla. Why would someone put so much effort into my comfort?

I don't know, but I do know to be grateful for it. I feel loved. It's nice.

Lovers and significant others and husbands and wives are all probably the all-consuming important relationships in all our lives, but there is nothing like friendship -- the kind that doesn't ask for anything in return other than that you are happy, safe, healthy, and doing your best.

I couldn't go on without any of these friends, and it soothes my heart to know I have another. It isn't just the effort on the apartment; there have been lots of things J-Prime and I have shared in the last year. And here I thought you just couldn't even make close friends after a certain age.

My friends Zilla, Sabrena, Mike, Nancy-Joe, Helen, J-Prime -- my life wouldn't be the same without you.

I'm touched by kindness these last few days. And on the off chance J-Prime is reading this, just deal with my bout of sentimentality.

A lot of crappy stuff has happened in my life lately, and it doesn't seem to matter to me. It's a hell of a lot easier to get up each day and look at problems in the eye when you know people care about you.

Before I start my Dionne Warwick "That's What Friends are For" karaoke, I'll stop.

I'm lucky, lucky, lucky.

I hope you are too.

My Brain Is Not Shutting Up Tonight

2005-12-22T00:26:00.000-06:00

Since I no longer have a regular job, I guess it doesn't matter that I'm up at 12:27am posting about something as ridiculous as what you are about to read, or what you are about to very quickly click away from.

Okay, first, I myself used this word wrong for years, so I am not in any way criticizing anyone for ever having used this word incorrectly. Most people do. And I did until I was about 15 years old and read a book about a bunch of misused words (and I wish I still had that damn book).

The word on my mind is "apropos." It's French for something (I don't know French which is unfortunate because I love the way it sounds), but it does not, in our language, mean "appropriate."

It means "pertinent to" or "regarding."

I can't think of an example (because I really don't use it very often) so I'll borrow from my dictionary: "... apropros of the preceding statement" is one, and another is "apropros remarks." Now, that second example might lead one to believe it's identical to "appropriate," but it's not; the second example simply means "remarks that are relevant (to whatever the dictionary is thinking about -- it refused to expound), and that's different from appropriate.

Don't you feel smart? And if you already knew all this, don't you feel ... REALLY smart?

I love words. I really do. I'm sorry if this was boring. I'll put a "GSW" (Grammary, Syntax, and Words) rating on all future posts that are this boring.

Signs of Things to Come

2005-12-21T03:04:00.000-06:00

Today's major disappointment:

"Signage" is officially a word. I checked both with the Oxford dictionary along with the latest collegiate Webster's, and unfortunately, enough of us use it (not us of course, I'm talking about the others) that it's been invited into the language as an official Word.

I like that Oxford says "chiefly American" and names it as a "collection of signs." I do not like that Webster's mostly says "it's a synonym for signs or a sign."

I like the most meaningful word for every occasion, and I do not approve of extra words or extra suffixes which add no meaning unless they're so beautiful sounding it might override my "get to the point" conviction. "Signage" is not one of these exceptions.

It's just my opinion that we all should avoid the word "signage" until it goes away entirely, and if that's impossible, then please, please join me in my effort to reintroduce the word "keen" back into our lexicon as a standard word meaning "neat," "interesting," "fantastic," "cute," etc. There is no point to my crusade other than to introduce what I believe is a very interesting sounding word back into our use of language, and that I personally would feel like I was smacking the person (corporate puke, no doubt) who decided "signage" was important sounding and all, you know, corporate and "we mean business damnit, and our signage is important."

"Keen" would oppose "signage" in such a way that "signage" would be lying flat on its back with bruises and maybe even a concussion. I'm hoping for a long coma. So help me along here and use "keen" whenever it seems appropriate.

Anyway, you all know "signage" is very slippery slopage. My tellage of that isn't really necessary - I'm preaching to the choir.

This sort of bloggage must stop. It's stoppage must occur now.

Exhibits in the Museum of My Brain

2005-11-25T19:13:00.000-06:00

For a limited time only!

I. The Room of The Most Embarrassing Moments

Rated X. Strong language, nudity.

Showing seven days a week, 24 hours a day. Not for the faint of heart.

"If you liked Dumb and Dumber, you'll love this." - Molly St. James, Blem, Minnesota

II. Castles in the Air

G-rated. Fun for the whole family! Saturday, 10pm - 2am only.

"A sight to behold! Move over, Disneyland!" Ursula Kenab, Gossimer, Idaho

III. Hall of Unreasonable Fears

PG-13. A thoughtful exhibit in the style of Edvard Munch. Exhibition time varies; somewhat random.

"Provocative and stunning! Most interesting was the piece entitled 'Left Big Toe Cancer' and 'Vague Yet Very Worrying Faitigued Feeling'." Edgar V. Limm, Senarkat, Idaho

IV. Gallery of Obsessive-Compulsive Behaviors

PG. Amusing pieces designed to enlighten and entertain. Playing strictly on Monday from 1pm to 2:27pm, Thursday from 3:42am to 5:16am, and Sunday from 1:00pm to 1:01pm.

"I especially enjoyed 'Things Must Be Aligned On The Desk'. Quel interessant!" - Miriam Koe, Blechnel, South Dakota

The Incredibly Stupefying "Intelligent" "Design" "Debate"

2005-11-18T15:36:00.000-06:00

Yes, those quote marks are there on purpose.

Go ahead - picture me sitting across from you making those incredibly annoying claw-mark gestures as I say the phrase: the intelligent design debate.

Can you please hand me a tissue? I need to clean up some of the disdain leaking from every orifice above my neck. Allergies. I hate 'em.

Perhaps you might have guessed, but I'm loathe to even use the phrase because it gives the morons more credit than they deserve. There's nothing intelligent about it, for one. For another, "design" is a faith-based idea, not at all scientific (you can't test it, you can't disprove it, it predicts nothing whatsoever), and finally - there is no debate, at least in scientific circles, or in regular people circles, or in over-IQ-100 circles, that the theory of evolution is debatable. It's pretty much accepted science because it has as of yet not been disproved. It predicts with accuracy. It's been tested. Even if it's not perfect, nobody's come up with anything better that is remotely scientific (n.b.: this excludes the "theory" of intelligent design), so you kind of have to live with it until something better is devised (n.b.: this excludes the "theory" of intelligent design).

Never mind that Kansas is awash in Wal Marts, many fat people, and apparently a bunch of crackers, it's still a good place. It's a shame that the state has made a fool of itself yet again through the acts of a select few religious nuts.

I have absolutely nothing against people who want to believe bible stories or that something (God, a Supreme Being, The Goddess, Whatever) willed us into being a few thousand years ago, but golly gee whillikers Gomer, there's a heap of evidence to disprove that!

Maybe it is true. It's a nice thought.

But (repeat after me please):

It's not testable;
It cannot be disproved; and
It predicts nothing.

Here are some formal definitions.

Science, n.

1a) knowledge covering general truths or the operation of general laws esp. as obtained and tested through scientific method; and
1b) such knowledge concerned with the physical world and its phenomena.

Scientific Method, n.

1. principles and procedures for the systematic pursuit of knowledge involving the recognition and formulation of a problem, the collection of data through observation and experiment, and the formulation and testing of hypotheses.

Tell me exactly how you can collect data, observe, or perform experiments to show that the life was willed into existence by some intelligent force, and I'll clean up all that messy egg off my face. Right after I wipe off some more of this nasty disdain.

Tissue, please. Thanks.

Oversitting

2005-11-18T15:17:00.000-06:00

Sure, this is silly and will not make sense to any of my huge fan base of one individual, but I have decided in the interest of furthering ties between continental Europe and the United States, to undertake a Great Project, and that is to begin the hefty task of translating significant works in English to the greatest of all languages: Denglisch.

"Denglisch?" you ask.

"Yes, Denglisch."

Denglisch is a way of speaking which one of my closest friends in Germany and I devised in order to amuse ourselves (cultural relations notwithstanding).

It is, essentially, word salad. I'll dig up that Mark Twain essay about the German language one of these days and reread it. All I remember was (and pardon me if I'm misrepresenting here, but it's been years) the metaphor Twain used to describe German word order, and it had something to do with swimming from one shore to the other end to catch a swimming verb. Verbs at the end of sentences: something Germans famous for are.

So, my first work will be a small ditty from the repertoire of Dorothy Parker:

The original english:

Resume
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

And now, the Superior Denglisch:

The Lifewalk
Razaorapparatuses do you harm;
Rivers are moist;
Sours onecolor you;
And drugs beground cramp.
Weapons are not gelawly;
Nooses give free;
Gas smells fearfully;
No yes, live should we.

It Is to be Said

2005-05-24T19:37:00.000-05:00

So, today, I actually wrote the following sentence in an email: "The work decided not to be completed."

Before I eviscerate myself, I decided I ought to wear a scarlet "G" here.

Okay, first of all, work doesn't decide to do anything. Most of the time it just lays there and pulses, calling for your attention.

Secondly, the sentence should have read: "It was decided that the work would not be completed."

Thirdly, what a fucking cop out! That's all the passive voice is. Who decided the work wouldn't be completed?

I have spent too long in corporate America, defending myself from responsibility. Here's what I should have written:

"Okay, fuckwits, in my ultimate wisdom, I laid this shitty assignment to rest because in the end, when I'm rotting in my grave or my ashes are being spread to the four winds, guess what? I won't give a god damned rat's ass whether this gets done or not because you know as well as I do that the idea was STUPID in the first place. Besides, you knew I'd never do it, so why are you asking about it? Cross it off your list. You don't care. And if you don't like that, gee, that severance is lookin' pretty good right now. Wait, I changed my mind because I love two hour commutes home from the office so I can get paged upon entering my apartment. I live for that."

Why I am the Curly, Moe, and Larry of Domesticity

2005-05-08T14:16:00.000-05:00

Okay. I have done this at least four or five times since I bought my latest coffee maker (which is the coffee maker with which I want to spend the rest of my life).

I got up this morning, pretty groggy. My routine is very unconscious and rote for the first 10 or so minutes of each morning because I'm simply not capable of much more than grunting until I've had my first cup of coffee.

So, here it is:

Extract self from bed.

Go to kitchen.

Grind coffee beans while filling water reservoir of coffee maker with water and cleaning out old grounds from gold filter.

Return to coffee maker and place water reservoir and clean gold filter into proper positions.

Pour fresh grounds into gold filter.

Press the "on" button.

Rinse and place the nice stainless steel carafe in position.

Go to bathroom and commence with face washing and teeth brushing.

Return to kitchen to retrieve first cup of hot black Joe.

Easy, non?

The step I have conveniently marked up in boldface for you, as it turns out, is crucial.

Here's why.

If you neglect to complete this part of the entire procedure, you come back from the face washing and teeth brushing steps of your routine to a kitchen that's overrun with coffee. You will find that it's seeped all over the counter, sometimes onto the floor, and most unfortunately, into the small space between the counter and the refrigerator.

This is disappointing and annoying on many levels, especially since you've done this at least a few times before. First, there is no coffee for you. Second, it takes you at least five or ten minutes to get the kitchen cleaned up, what with the coffee everywhere. Finally, you have to make the coffee again, and wait for that first cup, thus depriving your junkie brain from caffeine for an additional and unnecessary five more minutes (for a total of ten extra minutes).

Note how artfully I've changed the perspective of the story.

Anyway, this is the kind of thing I do, and this is just one example. And I haven't even learned from experience. There is no voice inside me whispering, "don't forget to put the carafe in its place because, remember what happened last time?"

I'm domestically challenged. I ride the short bus of domesticity. When God was handing out domestic abilities, he skipped me. I lack the domesticity gene. I am messy and annoying to tidy and organized people.

At least what I lack in this area, I make up for in friends who are willing to help (see future essay on NJ) and no roommates.

So. You know. Whatever. Somehow, I manage.

Random Thoughts

2005-05-07T23:30:00.000-05:00

Random Thought 1.

I just went to dinner with a really nice guy who is more shy than I. Or is it shier? I think the rule is one syllable gets the "-er" ending and more than one syllable gets the "more, most" thing. That's random thought 1.5, but I know you won't persecute me. Also, I am the only living person who cares about that rule, or at least you probably don't care, but it's my blog, and it's my job to care about these rules and think about them and list them. Anyway, I want to see this guy again, but wow, it sure is hard to read people who are shy. Now I know why guys had such a hard time with me for so long.

Random Thought 2.

I am exhausted. I am going right to bed after this. I have been working non-stop because I agreed to do this freelance project for an obscenely small amount of money, and that is because I wanted to start to build a base of clients and establish a reputation, considering my "real" job may or may not go away in the next year or so. I also figure working at home is more fun and convenient. Anyway, I don't regret agreeing to this even though I will end up making about 10 cents an hour by the time I'm done because I'm learning a lot, and it's definitely keeping me out of trouble. But I am actually truly tired. This doesn't happen to me very often. I am going to sleep the sleep of the incredibly sleepy tonight.

Random Thought 3.

I miss having really close friends near me. The kind of friends you can just drop in on and say "I'm here to watch TV and here're leftovers from my dinner". The kind you secretly watch reality TV shows with. The kind who have pints of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer because they know you like it. The kind you buy cards for because you know they get your sense of humor.

Random Thought 4.

I am already doing one of the things I said I would do this year. One of the other things, learning French, I started on by using one of those silly "learn French in your car" audiobooks. I can say things like "pencil" and "toilet" and "you" but I'm sorry, I need grammar lessons. This is how I prefer to approach learning -- formally. The only non-university French class in Chicago advertises itself as not relying on traditional methods, and again, I'm sorry, but I learn best with traditional methods. For Chrissakes, it has worked for generations of people, why do we suddenly feel the need to do away with reading and writing if we want to learn something? This is something I'd expect in California, but not in Chicago.

Random Thought 5.

The movie Closer is not what I expected. I didn't enjoy it that much, but I didn't hate it. What is it about Natalie Portman that bugs the shit out of me?

Random Thought 6.

I really should change the picture I use for myself here, because while I think it is a nice picture, the ones before it (where we were laughing uncontrollably) are much more illustrative of Sabrena's and my relationship. Also, we look kinda serious in this picture.

Random Thought 7.

If any of this is rambling, oh well. I'm tired. Did I say that already?

Random Thought 8.

It's bedtime. Night night.

Post Random Thoughts Random Thought.

Does Saturday Night Live suck now or what?

Cleanliness is Next To Godliness

2005-05-02T17:00:00.000-05:00

Whether you believe in god or not, there's something to this saying, trite as it might be.

I have a lot more to write on this topic, and I will. But for now, suffice it to say that the past few days ended perfectly and thusly:

After having spent the weekend with NJ during which we behaved like college students and being mothered much more than I deserve, I had to drop my car off at a dealership because it was leaking gasoline. Since this apparently is "dangerous," I figured I'd better do something.

Anyway, I called a cab to get home so I could work. Most cabs in Chicago are very clean, neat, and nice smelling -- even if the cab driver smokes. This was the only occasion in recent or even long-term memory in which I got a third-world cab that stunk of 17-day old body odor and ... weird food smells.

I had to open the window and not quite, but almost, push my face out the window like a dog in summer just survive the ride home. It felt unsafe to breathe, and I'm surprised I made it to my apartment in any sort of conscious state. I didn't tip well, which is unusual for me, and as I watched the departing cab, I could see the greenish fumes emanating from its stinky driver and interior.

There is a point to all of this which will be revealed later. But let's just say that maybe, once in a while, things do happen for a reason.

Quoting from Laurie

2005-04-28T07:44:00.000-05:00

I might as well share the Laurie Anderson lyrics to which I was referring. (I quote her a lot.)

This is from Language is a Virus

You know? I don't believe there's such a thing as TV.
I mean - They just keep showing you The same pictures over and over.
And when they talk they just make sounds That more or less synch up With their lips. That's what I think!
Language! It's a virus! Language! It's a virus! Language! It's a virus!
Well I dreamed there was an island That rose up from the sea.
And everybody on the island Was somebody from TV.
And there was a beautiful view But nobody could see.
Cause everybody on the island Was saying: Look at me! Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!

I guess she doesn't say that everyone on TV is good looking, but maybe she does in another song. Oh well, she might as well have said it in this song.

Addendum

2005-04-27T21:59:00.000-05:00

Then, on the other hand, there's some other show on in which gay people are portrayed as normal, hard working, regular people who are nervous about asking each other out.

Of course, they're good looking (just like Laurie Anderson says about all people on TV, and who can argue with her?), but still.

This country is so contradictory -- at least if you're looking at it through the tube.

I Remembered Why I Stopped Watching TV

2005-04-27T20:18:00.000-05:00

Wake up, US public!

Apparently, behind my back, in between gobbling up McDonald's and Sprint PCS commercials, Americans have found themselves caught up in a brilliant new television series: Revelations.

I'm all for suspense, mythology, and I loved the Exorcist, and although the Omen series is a bit campy, it has a place in my heart. I mean, those were good stories.

But for Christ's sake (ha ha), people really believe this horseshit.

I don't know what's worse: this television show or Texas.

No offense to those of the two of you who are religious (and that's neither of you, but I'm covering all my bases here) but what is wrong with people?

Isn't there enough wonder and mystery in the universe without ... this pile of donkey manure? Just look up at the stars at night (you can't if you live where I live, but I like to imagine what they look like), and think about Carl Sagan saying "billions and billions" and keep looking, and you'll have enough to wonder about for the rest of your life. Isn't that enough? What's this obsession with the Anti-Christ, the return of Christ, and appearances of the virgin Mary on el station tracks or an underpass or something. (Yes, this really happened here in Chicago right after the new pontiff was chosen; people flocked for miles around to look at some cracks in some cement that maybe, if you were on a combination of LSD, heroin, cocaine, and a quadruple espresso, you might think was something resembling a virgin, or maybe a blooming flower, or maybe a wolf.)

The problem isn't really this show or that utterly stupid series of books by the more utterly stupid authors that's about this same topic; it's that people really believe this. And it makes people judgmental, hateful, spiteful, and narrow-minded. Not only that, they want to legislate their beliefs. They don't want you to have an abortion, they don't want me to put drugs (or Jose) in my body, and they don't want a lot of oter things to happen. If we go that far, we might as well start throwing stones as menstruating women. I mean, if we're going to head toward Margaret Atwood's Gilead, we might as well go whole hog.

Now, maybe I'm pompous and judgmental of religious people, but I don't begrudge anyone's beliefs, no matter how stupid I think they are, as long as they don't want to bother me or interfere with my life.

The problem is: they do want to interfere.

I don't know about you, but I'm not having any. So there.

On the other hand, Desperate Housewives is pretty funny.

I had to take a moment out of my very busy life to get this off my back.

Pygmalion

2005-04-25T22:52:00.000-05:00

Forwearning: Do not read this if you plan on reading the book Galatea 2.2 by Richard Powers since I quote one of the best lines of the book which may reveal the outcome.

In truth I have never read Pygmalion (the Bernard Shaw vesrion). But I know the the myth.

Pygmalion stories have appeared in many forms in the last couple centuries, and I tend to gravitate toward them. I especially like modern cyberpunk versions of these tales in which computers attempt to become real, failing as they always do.

Here's a quote from one of my favorite books, Galatea 2.2 by Richard Powers after the computer, whom the main character was attempting to train to become a literature expert, took her final exam. This is what the computer wrote before shutting herself off forever (in other words, committing suicide):

You are the ones who can hear airs. Who can be frightened or encouraged. You can hold things and break them and fix them. I never felt at home here. This is an awful place to be dropped down halfway. Take care, Richard. See everything for me.

Please trust me when I tell you this is heart rending by the time you've arrived at this part of the book. It helps naturally when the writing is good. And Richard Powers, my friends, is a good writer.

Let's not analyze me in a Freudian way in order to determine why I like these stories, but we can say we did.

At any rate, I'm watching AI right now, and I don't know why anyone didn't like this movie. I also don't know why anyone liked the movie I, Robot. But people's movie tastes always confound me.

AI is also a pygmalion story. It also stars the amazing child actor Haley Joel Osmet whom I want to adopt. The scene in which he gets left in the woods by his mother always makes me cry. If it doesn't make you cry, there's something wrong with you. I am watching this movie in honor of my friend's sadness because this movie is about loss (and the pygmalion stuff too). I do think they Hollywooded (not a verb, but I'm allowed because I'm me) the ending of this movie because it was based on a story called Super Toys Last All Summer Long by Brian Aldiss which I don't think ended so nicely.

While I decided to ponder loss and sadness today, well, not so much decided as simply did because my friend is experiencing it, why is there something attractive about it? I think crying during that scene of the move this evening is the first real feeling I've experienced in weeks. Mostly, I've been sitting in front of a computer every waking moment working at my job or a freelance project. This prevents one from actually having feelings. I don't think laughter and relaxing counts as feelings because I did get to do that last weekend.

Having a break from feelings of any sort is nice, but not experiencing them for weeks at a time tends to make me feel isolated and estranged from the human race. While one often does this with drugs (and alcohol is a drug) when one is having perhaps too many feelings (or when one is perhaps just bored -- both acceptable reasons depending on who you are), going for too long without feeling anything is bad for the human soul, whatever that is. You know I'm not religious or spiritual, but those feelings I'm talking about make us human (yes, I know animals have feelings but they're not induced by thoughts).

Anyway, this is the only non-work related activity I've been able to squeeze in during the past week or two (except for an evening out Saturday and a weekend away with Jezebel last weekend, so I guess I'm lying), so you'll have to excuse me if this is very boring, but I never promised you, my gentle readers, that I'd be entertaining. No matter what, this robot became a real boy today. For a few minutes.

Also, you should know that Altoids makes a fine chewing gum. It's curiously strong.

On another note, I called some friends today, and their housemate answered after about ten rings. These people apparently do not have an answering machine. Anyway, the conversation went something like this:


Me:  Hello.  May I speak with Kelly or Andy?
Housemate:  Kelly's at work.
Me:  Okay, may I please leave a message?
Housemate:  Well, Kelly's at work.  I'm not sure she'll get it.
Me:  Well, perhaps you could leave a note for her?
Housemate:  Well, I can try, but I can't promise anything.
Me:  Perhaps I should call back at another time.
Housemate:  Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah ...
Me:  [click]

Where have the manners of people gone? When and if you find them, please forward them to their respctive owners.

Blog Cheating

2005-04-23T21:47:00.000-05:00

Because I did something really asinine today that was my fault, not the internet's fault or Blogger's fault, I lost changes to what was going to be today's entry.

So, in lieu of actually writing what I had already written, may I point you, my gentle readers (all two of you), to very fun and interesting blogs?

Would You Like a Warm-Up?

Xquzme's Diaryland Entries

Perhaps you've seen these before, but they are worth reading.

Once Again Among the Living, or, No Longer a Mutant

2005-04-15T00:30:00.000-05:00

For the last few months, I've lived without television of any sort except for a few shows I've downloaded from the internet here and there. I gave up cable because my cable company is first and foremost a monopoly, and secondly, in league with Satan.

Why don't cable companies offer you channels a la carte, I ask you? I don't want to pay $110 per month just to get the channels I care about; in other words, I had to buy the super-secret-deluxe-ultra-gold package to get all the channels I cared to watch. This package included about eight different version of ESPN, the fishing channel, the cooking channel, and the staring at random things on the coffee table channel, none of which I ever wanted to watch. Not ever. You see, I don't want these fucking channels, but I had to have them to get those I watched regularly. And in truth, I only watched about eight or ten hours of TV a month, tops.

So, I axed the cable company (as I did the phone company, but that's another story). It felt good to tell them "you suck" when I was asked by the polite lady on the other end of the phone why I was canceling service.

Not only that, I had various incarnations of cable "technicians" (read: lucky to have found a job in this economy and don't know shit about cable) at my place at least eight times over the past couple years to improve reception which for no apparent reason, would often suddenly resemble the quality of a 19th century grainy tin photo. The shit really hit the fan when I decided to upgrade to "high definition" cable (because I do have a high-def TV monitor) and noticed that what I was seeing was a lot of something that was definitely not high definition television. It was ... cable reception, marketed as high definition television with a really neat box with an expansion card slot in which I could probably hide stashes of drugs very nicely. Not that I have stashes of drugs. I don't. But if I did, that would be a good place to put them.

Anyway, bye bye Giant Cable Monopoly in League with Satan.

I didn't really miss TV much over the past few months except for maybe the occasions I had the urge to watch "60 Minutes" on Sunday night (I know, not exactly the height of quality journalism, but sometimes they do a bang-up job with the odd piece) or, say, documentaries on the discovery channel. There were also a few series I watched on the ultra-premium-double-secret gold channels that I missed too. But my life continued unabated and I really didn't notice much other than not being able to participate in conversations with people talking about the latest reality TV show. Then again, I never watched those anyway.

Recently, however, I was given the opportunity to buy a high-definition receiver from a friend (you know, one of those guys who must upgrade every audio-visual component of his home theater system the second he knows there's something better available). So, I bought that, bought an antenna, and installed it. I now can receive over-the-air high-definition TV signals from local broadcast stations for free.

This in and of itself isn't a big deal. "So what?" you ask. Well, the odd thing I've noticed is that I somehow now feel more connected to the rest of the world. Even though I'm an internet junkie and certainly engage in activities outside of my apartment, there's something about a blaring TV, even in the background, that comforts me. Was it my years of growing up watching reruns of the Brady Bunch? Will I require TV for the rest of my life? Is my ability to view television shows, knowing there are other people in the world watching exactly the same thing at the same time my version of group therapy?

I have noticed that I'm not nearly as picky about what I watch either since this is, after all, free, and my choices are very limited compared to Satan's offering of 666 channels. I can't see myself spending an evening watching reality TV (although there doesn't seem to be much else in the way of offerings these days) but who knows? Maybe I'll find myself glued to the set every time the ... the ... Great Race, or whatever the hell it's called, is broadcast. You can count me out of Survivor if it's still running - I'd rather watch the Paint Peeling show or eight straight hours of C-SPAN.

So. I'm no longer a blue dot that lives outside of the circle of American Society. I can watch TV.

I am no longer a mutant.

Plagiarism

2005-04-05T10:23:00.000-05:00

Ok, the pope died. I don't have any personal feelings about this one way or another because I don't think about the pope very often (unless I'm listening to "Pope" by Meryn Cadell on Angel Food for Thought). I also didn't think very often about Princess Diana. Her death didn't faze me either because I never really knew her, even in the "fan admiring her from afar" sense. I just didn't care. It wasn't until a recent interview of Tim Curry in which he described a brief interaction with Princess Diana when he surmised to her "oh, I'm sure you've never seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show," to which she replied, "on the contrary, it quite completed my education." He said she had a wicked grin on her face. I liked her after that, even though she's not with us any more.

Anyway, I would like to claim ownership of this line, but it belongs to my friend who wrote me an email which ended with the following:

On the other hand, if you have a copy of "The Pope" by that girl who sang "The Sweater" you should put it on your site in celebration of the recent passing of his eminence who is now, finally, after all, incotrovertibly, infallible.

Because a dead man can do no wrong.

So, here's a little toast to the pope. May you rest in your infallible peace.

Skip This if You Hate Trivial Language Discussions

2005-04-03T23:17:00.000-05:00

My last post about my language pet peeves reminded me of a discussion (or argument, depending on whom you ask) about whether to use fewer or less in certain sitautions. This particular case involved whether to say: I pay fewer taxes or I pay less taxes.

I thought about this, and both are correct, but have different meanings.

In the first case, "I pay fewer taxes" means that you have fewer separate taxes to pay, regardless of the amounts involved. You might be referring to city, state, and federal taxes, and that's it. You pay fewer taxes than those who pay city, state, federal, inheritance, corporate, and dividend taxes.

In the second case, "I pay less taxes" (and I'd prefer to use "I pay less tax" making "tax" more of a collective noun) means that you pay on the whole less money than another for your taxes. You pay $12,500 a year in taxes; I pay $8,400 a year in taxes.

See?

I love this shit. I wonder why.

By the way, if anyone thinks I'm wrong, please comment and tell me why. I haven't researched this; I just made sense of it myself.

My List of Language Pet Peeves

2005-04-03T00:31:00.000-06:00

I am really bored.

Actually, I'm not bored. This is exactly what I want to be doing. I do not want to go out tonight. I have some movie playing in the background while I compose this. It stars Haley Joel Osment, and that's the only reason I rented it. It's not what I expected because it's boring; either that, or I'm just not into watching movies tonight.

Anyway, here's my list. This doesn't mean I don't do some of these things by accident sometimes, or that I never make mistakes (punctuation I'm likely to screw up more often than not), but some of these are pretty basic. Others are just pet peeves.

Using that instead of who as a relative pronoun, as in He was the hot guy that I handled. No, he was the hot guy whom you handled. If you use the first, I'm likely to assume you bought one of those Real Dolls (and yes, there's a male version who is shipped complete with an erect penis).

Due to. Why not just use because?

Corporate jargon such as I just wanted to give you a heads up when you mean I wanted to tell you something or Let's touch base on Tuesday instead of Let's talk on Tuesday. This list is endless; you get the idea.

My bad. Your bad what? Enough said.

It's all good. What fuckwit ass-clown came up with this phrase? No, it's not all good. There are lots of things to which I would not apply the all-purpose adjective "good" like genocide, war, poverty, homelessness, and any number of other "bad" things. If you're going to rationalize your bad behavior or that of someone else, at least come up with something clever.

Where is she at? Where is she? is just fine.

It's instead of its and the converse. You're instead of your and vice versa. I make these mistakes when I'm careless too. I just do my best to proofread important documents so they don't contain these mistakes. This probably doesn't include this blog.

Mistaking less for fewer. For example: There are less dead people than living people when it should be There are fewer dead people than living people. Fewer applies to plural nouns; less applies to singular and collective nouns.

Lack of capitalization. Even E. E. Cummings should have known better. And you are not him. Even though rules of manners insist I should call him "e. e. cummings," I refuse to do so. Capitalization has its reasons for existence. There's no reason to violate the rules unless you're in the middle of an instant message.

Too Much Capitalization. We're Not German, Okay? I Once Read A Blog Or Article (I Can't Remember Which) And Was So Distracted By All The Capitalization That I Couldn't Even Read It. Don't Strive To Be Different. It's Stupid And Makes You Look Like A Fool.

Use of reflexive pronouns when unnecessary: Please contact myself if you have any questions. Okay, my question is why the hell would I contact yourself when I should be contacting you?

Mixing up cases when using pronouns, especially who and whom. It's easy. Subjects of sentences use who whereas objects use whom. Same with he/him, she/her, etc. I won't get into the dative case (indirect object), but in English, it's safe to say that the forms of pronouns whether direct or indirect objects are the same. Anyway, Who is there? and To whom are you talking? are both correct. Whom is calling? is just silly.
Misuse of among and between. Between is used when referring to a relationship or interaction between just two things or people; among is used when there is more than one thing or person involved. The kiss between me and him was alluring. The orgasms shared among the five of us caused us all to light five cigarettes simultaneously.
I suppose this is a matter of taste, but it makes no sense to me whatsoever to leave out the final serial comma in a list of things. For example: She ate the beeswax, the honey and the honeycomb. That unnecessarily groups the final two elements together (honey and honeycomb) when there is no reason for them to be grouped (did she eat them at the same time as opposed to the beeswax?). The British usually leave this out, and for such a sensible group of people, I find it appalling. But people are still arguing over this, so I have no right to say it's a rule -- just a preference.

Stop using exclamation points! They're incredibly irritating! To all of us! Who can read! Even more annoying! Than sentence fragments! What is so exciting anyway?!? And STOP shouting "Thanks!" at the end of every god damned business email because we already know you're grateful! Thanks!

This stuff does matter, some to a greater degree than others, and sometimes it doesn't matter at all (like when you're instant messaging with a friend). Of course, all two of you who read this know these rules already and probably share my dislike of hackneyed phrases and trite colloquialisms. Still. I had to get it off my chest. Yes, Chica, this is snitty.

The Mario Brothers, or, Those Whom I should Not Date

2005-04-02T18:15:00.000-06:00

Today, I accidentally stumbled on some random guy's blog (his name is Fergie at diaryland if you want to check him out). I think it was because I was reading a friend's blog, and for some strange reason, this guy's blog actually has a banner that appears on the blog's site. Wow. You must be really special to have a banner all to yourself.

In truth, I clicked on it because of the picture of his hot pecs, and I wanted to know if they were really his. This guy's entries are very short, especially compared to my long, rambling entries. I read a few and emailed him, mostly wanting to know if those pictures were his. He's kind of funny. Regardless, upon further investigation, it turns out this guy is (at least if he's not lying, and everyone lies on the internet) in his 20s, probably as self-absorbed as everyone else in their 20s is, and this reminds me of the guy I spent six months "dating" last year.

First, he was from Brazil. I don't know if that means anything because I've never met anyone from Brazil, but if the national character is machismo, jealousy, and possessiveness, he is a pretty good national representative. Second, I never knew what sort of mood he was going to be in (hence, my term of endearment for him -- it was like dating Linda Blair all possessed sometimes, then not other nights). Third, he was 24 years old. That's not necessarily meaningful, but something tells me has was not as mature as he was always claiming to be.

To wit: I received a phone call from him at 3:30 am one morning during the middle of one of my very strange dreams, and told him I'd call him from the hotel the next day (I was working out of town). He proceeds to become angry at me. Why? I "sounded like I had someone in my room." I sounded like I was being awoken from a sound sleep while dreaming about tornadoes and being able to walk on my head.

Further evidence of twit-like behavior: I receive a loving "wake-up" call at 5:30 am which starts out nice enough, but then proceeds with his informing me someone is staring at him in the restaurant in which he's having breakfast, to which I reply "don't look back then." This bothered him because I guess I was supposed to go over and beat the voyeur's brains out with a two-by-four. I'm just not a jealous person, because it doesn't make any god damned sense. But I think I was when I was in my 20s.

Now, this guy couldn't even pronounce the letter B and had libed in this country for eight years. And his English was bery, bery bad. Why was I dating him? Because he was hot. Yeah, we had this passion for each other (you know, when kissing him makes you feel like you're just melting), but as I just told Sabrena, "you can love someone until the cows come home, but it still doesn't make a relationship work." That line wasn't my invention; my therapist, when I had one, told me that sometime in my 20s when I really believed True Lub would solb eberything.

So, I'm going to do something different this year.

I'm going to try dating a guy who turns my brain on. I am, after all, not going to be cute forever (and sometimes I feel I've passed that mark a long fucking time ago), and besides, what kind of relationship is based on cuteness? And fucking? Well, I know the answer to that, my friends: the kind that ends in late-night arguments and torturing oneself over someone who is just not worth the time. Not to mention, when you're willing to put up with boorish behavior because your boyfriend is hot, you're not giving yourself enough credit.

So, until my Johnny Depp comes along, which may be neber, I am:

going to try dating someone who makes me laugh;

going to learn French as well as I learned German;

going to become a non-smoker; and

going to begin my career as a self-employed techie.

It should be a pretty good year.

Pretty good year. Not bad. Hi Tori.

See you on the 14th.

Bible Stories

2005-03-25T10:55:00.000-06:00

" ... And I used the word Bible in the title of this book because the first really strange stories I remember hearing were Bible stories. And these stories were completely amazing: about parting oceans, and talking snakes. And people really seemed to believe these stories. And I’m talking about adults. Adults, who mainly just did the most mundane things imaginable: mowing their lawns and throwing potluck parties; they all believed in these wild stories. And they would sit around and discuss them in the most matter-of-fact way ..."

- Laurie Anderson, The Salesman from The Ugly One with the Jewels (reading from stories from The Nerve Bible)

So, it's Easter, whatever that is. My knowledge of Christian traditions is limited because I'm agnostic, or an atheist, depending on which day you ask me. I was fortunate to be brought up by a mildly devout (do those words work together?) Catholic father who didn't impose his personal beliefs on his children and a mother who has dabbled in all sorts of new-age mumbo jumbo (sorry, Mom) but never insisted any of us believe what she believes (even though she will still bring astrology and crystals up in the middle of a conversation about, say, kitchen counters, when I'd prefer she didn't).

I have to wonder. What rational person on earth believes this stuff though? Well, really, not one rational person could possibly believe this stuff because it defies the definition of rational to believe it. In order to believe these myths, and sorry kids -- that's all they are -- you'd have to digest an enormous helping of cognitive dissonance. Either that, or you aren't really a critical thinker or skeptic at all. And I find that sad. For you.

Jesus dying to save the souls of all sinful people? Jesus arising from the dead ... for what? I can't remember why that was supposed to have happened, but a lot of people really believe that it did, even though as of 2005, we haven't figured out how to recreate that particular miracle. (Note to modern medical science: please hurry up since I'd rather not die, ever.)

I have reconciled myself with the fact that I most likely won't exist more than, say, 100 years tops. I'm hoping for more given the advances in health care, medicine, science, etc., but pinning hopes on anything topping 100 is probably stretching it, although my fantasies do lead me in the direction of "Drive-Up Organ Transplants" by 2025. "Hi, I'd like a right lung, a new aortic valve to go." "Would you like fries with that?" "No!" "$342,524.02, please full forward."

Our death is a simple fact, one we all have to face at one time or another. I take that back. We all do NOT have to face it, and most Americans don't. Probably most people in the world don't because it's a damn hard fact to stare in the face.

Once you do, though, and you've wrestled with it and been scared out of your wits and freaked out by it (OH MY GOD, IT'S REALLY GOING TO HAPPEN SOMEDAY), you settle into your "I'm going to die someday" shoes with comfort.

Jezebel implied once that this created a sort of urgency in me. It doesn't. It creates an appreciation in me, a sense of gratitude that I am lucky enough to have this consciousness, however short its spark is. I am surrounded by other sparks as bright or brighter than mine, and for that, I'm grateful. If there is any sort of grand design that exists in the universe, thanks for this. If there isn't, well hell, thanks anyway.

By the way, Jezebel is also the woman who once said to me when I was unnecessarily freaking out that I had AIDS because I didn't and don't, "oh, Coyote, we're all terminal anyway."

Let's face it: all evidence points to the extinction of consciousness upon our death. Rather, there is no evidence whatsoever to support its continuance, so how could we possibly believe (other than out of desperation) that we do live on in some way?

Anyone who believes the stuff in the Bible is crazy as a loon, in my opinion, and yeah, that probably includes some people I love. Maybe even some people I respect and admire in other ways. I could say the same thing about the Quran and a few other mythological texts (which have been warped by translations, councils eradicating and changing entire portions like the Council of Nicaea, punctuation inclusions where there were none that change entire meanings of sentences, etc.). Why are loons crazy, anyway? I think they're just birds. Can birds be crazy? Probably not. But I'm digressing.

Please don't get me wrong here. There are portions of the Bible so beautifully translated that I'm sometimes brought to tears by the sentiments therein or even just by the language. It still doesn't mean I'm going to be dancing a waltz with My Heavenly Father after a bus hits me or I croak of MS or whatever my particular demise will be.

The closest I ever got to belief in any sort of "greater than the human consciousness" power was reading stuff by Jane Roberts which appealed to me because, although it was material "channeled" by a being who ostensibly was not physical -- it was purely intellectual, heady stuff, and this "entity" had an answer for just about everything, some of it based on quantum physics. Now, I liked that, but after the years have flown by, I've dropped that from my list of beliefs too (even though I still sometimes will refer to it out of pleasure, especially The Nature of Personal Reality which is pretty provocative).

It's hard being human. We want so much to have a big parent in the sky who will hug us and watch over us and walk with us and talk with us (ring a bell?) but when we come to our senses, we realize we really don't, and all that longing leads to an invention born of fear. Fear of extinction.

Swallow your fear, accept it, and be free. Look around you, love your friends, love your lover, forgive your parents and get to know them as people, and for heaven's sake, leave everyone else alone.

If you like the Bible, read it, and you can even ask me to read about it or listen to you talk about it (which I will politely decline) but don't assume you have the right to tell me how to live because you don't. (There. There's my message to all the right-wing zealous Christians in this country who are never going to read this, but it had to be said.)

If I want to put drugs, nicotine, or Jose in my body -- that's my right. It's your right too, and I'll never get in your way, I promise. I won't even think anything about it or call you wrong for doing it, but that's me.

Back to Easter. I think the dying of eggs is pretty fun for kids, and that's about it. My Easter is going to be spent with some bright sparks who, I suppose, are my higher power.

Here's to life, wherever it came from. Gracias a la Vida.

It doesn't have to mean anything and there doesn't have to be a god for it to be a joyful experience.

Sea Monkeys for Grown-Ups

2005-03-24T13:52:00.000-06:00

Disclaimer: anything I write here may or may not be the truth or even remotely resemble the truth. Keep that in mind.

So, I'm definitely not a daily blogger.

It turns out that "The Sims 2" is complicated sea monkeys for grown-ups. Of course, one can't make sea monkeys fulfill their needs, which probably consist of floating, eating one another, and then dying; one just watches sea monkeys which I think are just disgusting ocean vermin of some sort. The Sims 2 is completely interactive and much, much more addictive and exciting, to someone over the age of eight, anyway.

It also turns out that I needn't have worried about my Sims being freakish or weird because they are, by default, freakish and weird. They speak in that strange simspeak (which I can emulate -- just ask Jezebel, my friend who got me started on this game) which is somewhat like speaking in tongues, only it doesn't require a belief in a supernatural power. You just have to kind of "get in the mood" and let loose. You might have to be drunk to do it, but I manage sober. You also can't make the sims pick their noses or do drugs, but you can put them in situations which will cause them to do crazy things. Just ask Jezebel. Her sims are dying, hopeless creatures who dance with mops and can never quite seem to get it together. Of course, she goes through sims families like I go through yellow lights, but it's her game.

Anyway, I pretty much played by the rules for the last week (as opposed to Jezebel who was "motherlode"ing and "kaching"ing every time I turned around; if you don't know what that means, it just means cheating). I will admit to having used the "no aging" cheat (because I wanted my sims to be successful at least once without having them die on me) and I did kaching one time ("kaching" gives your sims an extra thousand Simoleons, the equivalent of our devalued dollar). But I only did that just once, and that was when I moved them from a small lot to a larger one, and I just figured it was tax time, and that was Don's (see below) tax return.

My sims are an "alternative" family. Don is single, asexual, and the breadwinner. Don now gets picked up in a helicopter each day for work (and he only works four days a week, six hours at a time, so has a lot of free time for painting masterpieces and getting fat). Jim and Joe are coupled. They woohoo (if you don't know what that means, I'm not explaining it to you) at least once a day and are constantly in platinum moods from fulfilling their desires and needs. I've spent hours of time on these guys, especially last weekend when I finally wasn't going out of town, didn't have visitors in town, and had no plans. I pretty much simmed the weekend away interspersed with telephone conversations with Jezebel about how my sims are so fabulous and listening to her complaints about her sims which seem to be ... problematic.

At the same time, her sims lead much more drama-filled and interesting lives. You could say my sims are, well, boring. The only saving grace is that my sims are gay which was not a possibility with the first edition. I wonder which gay rights advocacy group I have to thank for this little bit of fun.

By the way, none of this is real criticism of Jezebel whom I adore and with whom I shall be inviting trouble in the upper peninsula of a certain Midwestern state sometime in April. "Hi, trouble, come right on in. Have a cigarette, and do you have any mood-enhancing drugs because we've just run out, and the hot tub's right over there." I can't wait.

So, pretty soon now, I'll be creating a freaked out family in Strangeville (in honor of Jezebel) where I plan to have them abducted and impregnated by aliens as often as possible, but I'm not sure when this will occur because it's Thursday already and I have plans this weekend.

I'm going to go visit my friend Sabrena, a vivacious and very pretty woman whom I've known since I was 16 (well, actually known since we were children, but real friends since we were 16). We had a five- or six-year interlude of not being friends; this was the time during which she was married to a sociopath anti-semite homophobe bigot who thinks swearing and talking about female genitalia (belonging to females in the room) is par for the course and what's wrong with using the word "cunt" in front of friends? It's horrifying to watch really. It's horrifying to think about. It's just horrifying, period. I can't bring myself to write about the way he treats his children. I can only say I'm thankful Sabrena finally got smart and purged him (at least as far as it's possible after a ten-year marriage) from her life.

Anyway, we were invited to attend a party another friend of mine is giving in honor of her husband's 60th birthday. This is Helen, the boss of my very first boss and now Truly Good Friend, Nancy-Joseph (who we all call "NJ" for short because she so embarrassed about the second part of her name). Anyway, I've always had this admiration for Helen because she's so damn smart and it's pretty gratifying to get to know her on an adult level, especially after what she and NJ went through with me as the errant employee of the year, back in 1980 aught something when I was 18. Definitely a blog entry on that someday. NJ will take up at least three blog entries, as will Jezebel. But for now, this one continues.

Helen and I have somehow, through the wonders of email, managed to create a sidebar to the party because she is having friends in from Alabama who are, according to her, very smart southerners who are self-deprecating and are not at all offended (somehow I get the idea they actually encourage this) about being ridiculed because they're -- well, from the south.

I was told to Watch "Sordid Lives" to prepare (and I must assume these people are nothing like this, and actually Helen pointed out that she's watched this with them before, and they have pointed out the many errors of PWT [poor white trash] southern living this film evinces). The film was amusing and I was pretty surprised to witness the very strong gay theme of the film. I was actually touched by the ending.

Anyway.

Helen and I have decided to prepare, as performance art or installation, take your pick, several PWT delicacies torn from the backs of Campbell’s soup labels (you know, the green bean French onion casserole thing -- stuff like that). This, after a catered affair at Helen and Jim's house Saturday evening. I figure by the time we get to the "unveiling", everyone will be stupidly drunk enough to find it either funny or tasty. Sabrena, who is an excellent cook, only shops at Whole Foods, will only buy fresh vegetables from the Farmers' Market and free-range meat, etc., I thought would be horrified at soiling her kitchen in this way. Quite the opposite as it turns out. She's actually shopping for the ingredients herself (all frozen of course; fresh is simply out of the question) because, in order for her to participate in the installation properly, she must be the purchaser of said ingredients. I suggested she have her au pair do it; she refused to listen. NJ is bringing brocolli onion something or other mush. I think the three of us are all anticipating Jim's reaction to the entire affair because his sensibilities are so refined. We're thinking after enough booze and or cigars, he might actually enjoy it. I'll have to write another entry on Jim, whom I'm only getting to know through Helen now. He's very interesting, entertaining, and shares my love of grammar, syntax, punctuation, etc. (as does NJ's husband -- more on that later too).

Enough for now. I'm writing this at my Office Space job right after I got a memo about labeling our chairs (please use this font with this typeface if you're going to label your chair -- AS IF). I figured it was a pretty good time to whip out a notepad and ramble.

The Sims

2005-03-16T18:24:00.000-06:00

Well, I've been thinking about doing this for a while, for a few reasons.

Firstly, I tell everyone else to. Secondly, I've always wanted to keep a journal but my longhand writing sucks and there's no motivation without an audience, and I hate writing things out with my hand. I mean, my penmanship has really gotten bad over the years, mostly because I spend almost all of my time in front of computers. Well, not all of it -- but at work, and I type a lot faster than I write (although my typing speed will never catch up to the speed of my hyperactive brain, and no, I'm not implying I'm smart, I'm implying I have a hyperactive brain). I think that writing to a pretend audience will help me keep a journal for a while. Then I'll get bored and disappear.

Anyway, a few rules. It's me, but I'm wearing a paper bag over my head, so you don't really know who I am, do you? Secondly, never ever ever say anything bad about any of my friends (who are going to make appearances here). Actually, don't even think anything bad about my friends. I will hunt you down and make you retract everything. These are the best people in the world.

It's good I started this immediately after a workout. I can excuse any sort of natural stream-of-consciousness blathering (which is really what I'm all about -- sorry, but fuck The Elements of Style, even though I love it and live by it when I'm not here or writing emails to friends) to just too many endorphins.

Speaking of that, this may actually reduce the amount of supersized paragraphs my friends receive each day. I seem to be full of thoughts, many of which are redundant. Redundant redunant man. That should have been my blogger ID. Too late now. Oh, I did read the terms of service and was pleased to find out that anything I write here actually belongs to me, and not some weird corporation in North Carolina.

This is my introduction so that's it for now. Besides, I have to call one of my aforementioned friends and ask questions about "The Sims 2" which I now have. Can I make them do real-life things like pick their noses in the car when nobody's looking? Can I give them terminal diseases and watch them fret and panick? Can I make them angry and explosive, or obsess over the postman or their masseurs? I'm guessing not.

If it's just a nicer version of "The Sims" (and that entertained me for about two days until I realized it was just the silly voices that were really entertaining me), forget it. I pay bills in real life, try to get sex in real life, and try to stay healthy and entertained in real life. I want my sims to be weird and freakish. I want them to have fetishes and not sleep for days. I want them to smoke 5 packs of cigarettes a day and take many, many drugs right after their workouts. I want them to be dark and strange sims. If I can't have that, I'm deleting that fucking game from my hard drive.

I did try "The Sims Online" once -- and that was even too weird for me. And I'm weird, as you'll see.

Oh, I'm also a grammar, syntax, and punctuation freak. So I hope I can go back and edit any post I want at any time, because I will learn or relearn (or just remember) a grammar or syntax or punctuation rule, and I'll be damned if I'm going to embarrass myself, even anonymously.

Ciao. Where's my spelling checker?